


even my phone misses your calls

by messymortal



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Getting Back Together, M/M, Post-Break Up, few months into the future tho, not really but implied - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 11:27:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13879896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messymortal/pseuds/messymortal
Summary: Harry is in London, Louis is in Italy, they miss each other. Louis is brave enough to call and lonely enough to cry. Harry might be as well.(starts out kinda sad, but gets better !)





	even my phone misses your calls

**Author's Note:**

> hi,  
> this relates to this thing i wrote  
> ik, writing the date would have been more interesting, but romance and dialogues and shit is hARD, people.  
> so have a second pov instead  
> have a nice day  
> f

_“If you need more time or a break or anything, tell us! We’d rather you take the time you need for this, instead of overworking yourself and breaking down. Nothing’s really scheduled yet anyway._ ” Jeff fixes him with a serious look and Harry feels a bit like a child again as he nods. _“I know, thank you. I really can’t say how long it will take for the second album though. Like I’ve written so much already but I don’t even know who I want in on this and stuff._ ” Next to Jeff, Todd, one of his managers, smiles at him reassuringly. _“Don’t worry, again, you have all the time you need, just take care of yourself. We’ll figure it out.”_ Harry nods again and smiles. Honestly he is just really fucking grateful to have a team of people who are genuinely concerned for his wellbeing and care for him as more than just a walking money maker. God knows he’s spent enough time being one of those. _“Alright, I’ll try to decide on a team for writing and recording and such and then I’ll call you, but right now you two have to leave, because it’s the fourth night in a row we’ve spent together and you guys have families.”_ He gets up and ushers Jeff and Todd to the door of his London apartment, they joke around and talk about how Todd’s kids are doing in school and then they’re off. The door closes behind them and a new calmness envelops the rooms.

It would probably be smart to figure this whole album thing out soon and maybe actually show up at a few events this year. Then again, it seems to be working just fine like it is. And Harry’s really not in the mood for interviews these days. He feels like he personally told every human on this world what his favorite song is and what he looks for in a girl and if he has a fucking group chat with the boys. There still is a lot the world doesn’t know about him, but he doesn’t think those things will be covered in an interview any time soon. Even though Jeff and his team are a lot nicer and more reasonable than Modest, the public doesn’t need to know everything. And if Harry spent a lot of the recent months nursing a broken heart or writing until the entire floor was covered in paper or getting really, really drunk, it’s nobody’s business.  
Harry takes a cool water bottle out of the fridge and steps out onto the balcony. The day was hot and humid but the air has gotten a bit chilly with the setting sun. He smiles as he drinks his water and looks out onto the city. The apartment builds a silent bubble of safety inside the hurried, careless reality of London. Down on the street he can see the cars stopping at a red light, drunk tourists singing, a delivery guy on a bike crossing the street without caution, someone spilling beer all over the sidewalk and a couple kissing lazily on a park bench. His heart clenches a bit at the sight. He breathes in deeply and almost rolls his eyes at himself. He’s being ridiculous. He hasn’t heard from Louis in months, hasn’t seen him in forever and yet he can’t help but be reminded of him everywhere he goes. Harry tried his best to stay calm as Louis released singles, talked his way through promo interview after radio show after TV performance and finally dropped the album. He attempted to just ignore all that, not even look at it for a while but ultimately he caved, spent a night watching all the same interviews with all the same questions and listened to the album on repeat for three days. He’s still trying to convince himself that he didn’t spend most of that time with tears in his eyes.  
Down on the street a car honks angrily and somebody starts yelling at the sky. Harry can’t make out the words, but the person sounds relieved. At least someone is happy tonight, he thinks sullenly and promptly is annoyed again. It’s pathetic, really, the way he clings to Louis. He’s spent so much time trying to distract himself, meet other people, get him out of his mind and yet… Harry shakes his head and turns his focus back to the world below and the water in his hand. It’s refreshing after a long day, but out on the balcony a cool wind has picked up. Harry shivers a bit and moves back inside. The flat is open and empty. The fruit bowl on the kitchen counter is filled, but the longer he considers the ripe apples and bananas the more nauseous he feels. He turns back around and jumps a bit at the sound of the creaky floorboard spreading through the room. The night outside grows darker by the minute and the shadows of the furniture seem deeper already. Harry turns his back to the wide windows.  
Suddenly, his phone on the sofa flashes and a soft melody fills the air. He picks it up and nearly lets it drop again as he reads the name. _Louis_. Louis? Something enormous deep inside of him awakens and he begins to tremble. Why would Louis be calling him? Does he want to meet again? Does he hate Harry? Maybe he just dialed the wrong number, yeah, that must be it, or this is a prank call or something, this can’t be real, Louis has no reason to call Harry, why would he callhimwhyislouiscallinghim? He takes a deep breath through his nose and attempts to gain some sense of reality. With closed eyes, he takes the call.

 _“Hello?”_ His voice feels raspy and almost foreign in his throat. He swallows slowly, waiting for a response from the other end of the line. His eyelids feel like heavy blankets, a last layer of protection from the harsh truth Louis will share with him. A weird choked sound comes from the phone and Harry quickly opens his eyes. _“Hey? Are you okay?_ ” he asks, trying to sound less worried less caring, less pathetic, less desperate. He doesn’t feel quite successful.  
A cough, a pause, then: “ _Uh yeah, hi?_ ” and everything just kind of stops. Harry’s always been a romantic and a poet but he never understood the phrase “time froze” like in this moment. It feels like his insides are shaking, rising, glowing. He’s in his dark, quiet flat high above the busy London streets, down on the pavement groups of drunk tourists, unaware of the international popstar having a mental breakdown in the building. His vision is a bit blurred. _“Louis?_ ” he says, attempting to gather up a sense of control and why did he say that, he knew it was him, he can read for fuck’s sake. Louis chuckles and it sounds embarrassed and awkward and Harry’s heart clenches because Louis shouldn’t feel that way around him, he never used to. “ _Yah… can we maybe talk for a bit? Only if that’s okay, I don’t want to bother you or anything, if you’re in a hurry, tell me…_ ” Harry inhales deeply at the sound of that voice close to his ear. Louis talks slowly not his usual quick-witted self the uncertainty and discomfort audible. Harry wants to smash something. Anxiety thrums through him as he wonders what they have to talk about. He braces himself for the worst and answers: _“Um, sure..? I don’t have anything planned right now.”_ His feet pace through the living room by their own accord, desperate to distract him from the conversation. Louis chuckles again softly and Harry is so scared he might die, but god, he missed this. There’s a loud inhale from the other end of the call. _“Okay, I have to admit, I’m not quite sure why I called you, but mainly I just want to tell you how incredibly proud I am of you and you deserve all the success in the world and you were so great in Dunkirk even though you’ve never done that before and the album was so fucking good I pretty much cried the whole way through the first time I listened to it and…_ ” His voice sounds raw and wrecked as he hastily tumbles over the sentences. A deep warmth spreads into Harry’s bones as the meaning of the words settles in. Louis trails off and Harry stills from his pacing and twitching in anticipation. A tentative smile has just begun to form, because Louis called and he’s proud and he listened to the album, but then a muffled sob travels through the phone and his heart just shatters. Before Harry can properly react, overwhelmed by the unexpected kind words and the pain in Louis' voice, there’s a deep sigh and some shuffling. “ _I’m not trying to bother you or upset you right now, I just need you to know that you’re an amazing person and I’ll always have your back and… y’know. Fuck. I’m sorry. I think that’s what I really wanted to say. I’m sorry, Haz._ ” It’s too much. Louis didn’t do anything wrong, it wasn’t his fault they ended things, wasn’t anybody’s fault. Harry isn’t mad at him, couldn’t be, not with the way his heart hurts every time he thinks of him and Louis called and Louis is crying. Louis is crying on the other end of the line and Harry is being burned alive by his emotions and he can’t breathe. “ _Lou, I…. Thank you. And... I’m sorry, too.”_ he manages to choke out, eyes wet and throat tight. He closes his eyes again, breathing slowly, trying to regain his footing. He fails utterly. “Fuck.” He whispers into the quiet darkness around him and then to the phone: “ _Fuck, Lou, I’ve waited so long for…”_ He barely catches himself before he says something dumb, like _I’ve never stopped thinking about you_ or _I still don’t know how to live without you._ He tries to calm down, but then he remembers that Louis called, called to say nice things to him and that he’s not the only one in tears right now and he lets the air flow slowly through his lungs. Maybe it’s his turn to be brave and open for once. _“I miss you. Do you think I could see you sometime?_ ” He even manages to put a smile on his face, pretending to be less of a pathetic mess than he is. But maybe Louis feels just as lonely and desperate as he does. “ _Yes, yeah, absolutely, I miss you, too, yeah…”_ When he answers it sounds natural again, happy even. Harry goes fuzzy inside. “ _Good, great, can we... uh, where are you right now?_ ”  
He wants to see Louis right this moment, wants to talk to him right here, right now, but they’re international celebrities with busy lives, that’s how they’ve gotten to this point in the first place. Louis is in Italy, but he’s returning to London tomorrow and Harry can’t believe his luck. Maybe that’s too intense, too much for such a short conversation, but it feels like everything is slowly falling back into place. Louis sounds just as cautiously happy as he is, both too hurt and insecure to allow themselves to hope.  
They’ve done that once, going into this bright-eyed and smiling widely. They were young and unassuming and helplessly in love, it felt like the world was theirs for the taking. Who could blame them for being disgustingly cute, for sharing inside jokes and soft kisses, when it all was new and exciting? They didn’t know any better, until reality and the industry caught up with them and their lives blurred into a frenzy of foreign countries, interviews, pap walks and red carpet events. And eventually their smiles were less wide and their eyes were tired and they couldn’t do it anymore. So they found themselves sitting alone on other sides of the continent, crying into a phone. It hurts like hell, but Harry believes that they’ve learned, that they can do better now. They belong.  
Louis says his goodbye and there’s a tiny pause where there used to be an I love you and a private smile and Harry’s insides feel like they’re melting. He tries to not let it show, but he suspects it wasn’t very convincing. Just as he’s about to end the call, he recalls Louis saying he listened to the album, he listened to the album and he cried, and Harry gives up on pretending he didn’t spend three days tearing up to the sound of Louis and only Louis. As if he hadn’t created a private Spotify account or pathetically hid his phone display from everyone. As if he didn’t get fucking close to tweeting _Thanks, I love you. @Louis_Tomlinson_ one very drunk night. Today is a good day for being honest, he decides and quickly adds: “ _And Louis? Just so you know, I cried through your album, too. It’s gorgeous._ ” Because it is, absolutely beautiful and breathtaking and so much like Louis. Meaning, Harry loved it from the beginning. Then he hangs up.  
It’s dark out now and the apartment waits for him in silence. He smiles. For weeks, he spent every night crying, he couldn’t drink tea without feeling sad, he couldn’t focus on anything besides blue eyes and a wide smile. Harry doesn’t really know how many songs he’s written about Louis, but probably enough to appear creepy to anyone else. He has notebooks filled with quotes and jokes and compliments and random thoughts all dedicated to one person and he desperately wishes all those fans were right in saying they were meant to be. Of course, life got in the way, as it has a habit of doing. Everything kind of was too overwhelming, too complicated, too much and then it was nothing at all. It seems it might be time for a healthy medium. The middle ground. Harry smiles, walks across the flat towards his bedroom and thinks that they were always complementary of each other and that if any two people could achieve perfect balance, it might be him and Louis.


End file.
